Blood of my Father
by Just a Girl
Summary: Neville returns home after his 5th year with his Grandmother, not afraid. Why should he be? He's Neville Longbottom, worst in his class. But being a Longbottom may be his death...


A/N-Ladies and gentlemen, in all my weeks of fanfic reading, I have never seen a Neville fic. What's up with that? No respect for the fat kid, I mean it. His parents were major aurors, right? So, naturally, wouldn't the Dark Lord want to kill him, too? Hello! Why has this not been done before?  
  
Disclaimer-I invented Hermione, Neville, Voldemort, Harry Potter, Ron, Hedwig, and the whole series. You are all theives of my characters. My lawyer will be contacting you soon.  
  
Neville sighed, looking out the window of his house. "Neville!" he heard his grandmother call.  
He tried his best not to sigh again. "Coming, Grandmother," he said. As much as he respected his grandmother, it did get lonely by himself up on that hill with her. His Uncle Albert came to visit occasionally, but mostly it was just him and her.  
He left his spot by the window to see what she wanted. He missed his friends from school, Ron, Hermionie, and Harry. He doubted they missed him, though. They never seemed to want him around.  
Then again, besides in Herbology, who would?  
"NEVILLE!" his grandmother screeched.  
"I'm coming!" he said, snapping out of his dreams. She found her holding up a peice of parchment which he quickly recognized as the start of his Potions essay on variations of dragon skin and the ways it could be used.  
"Yes?"  
"I want to know why you're not working on this," she said.  
"Um, I, er, just took a break. I'm about to get started again." With no other choice, he sat down and began to work again. He tried his hardest to focus on his work and tune out his grandmother's lecture about how his bad grades were bringing shame upon the whole family.  
Two hours later, he sat back and reread his essay. Within three seconds he had found five spots where he contradicted himself. "Dragon skin is very rarely used for medicine, but often it is used for healing," just to name a spot.  
He needed a break. He decided to take the Daily Prophet outside and see what was going on.  
Nothing major seemed to be happening, since he always started with the wizard comics. But when he turned back to the front page, he saw something that made his blood run cold.  
The Dark Mark.  
The newspaper crumpled in his hands. He realized he was crushing it. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back to power. He was back. He was back.  
That awful sentence rang in his head over and over. Of course, he had known about this ever since the begining of the summer when Dumbledore had told them. But to have it right here in black and white seemed to make it more final.  
He wanted to send an owl to one of his friends, do something...but he couldn't. He was just a kid, he knew. But thoughts of all the Dark wizards his parents had caught crossed his mind.  
He shook his head. They were the best aurors there ever was. He was just a stupid 5th year. What could he do?  
He decided not to send the owl.  
  
"So," Voldemort hissed. "The Longbottoms had a son?"  
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy said. "Named Neville."  
"This cannot happen," Voldemort continued. "He must be eliminated. The Longbottoms put many faithful Death Eaters into Azkaban. Any son of thiers cannot live."  
"My Lord," Malfoy said, "my son has informed me that this boy is a fool. Bottom of his class, he can barely concoct a decent potion."  
"Silence!" Voldemort commanded. "Despite this fact, strong blood runs in him. You and I both know the power of strong blood. He must be killed."  
"But even blood cannot make up for..."  
"Are you arguing with me?" Voldemort screeched. "CRUCIO!!"  
  
"Ah!" Harry said aloud, sitting up in his bed and feeling the all-too-familer slicing pain in his scar. He ran to the mirror, only to see his normal forhead. Hedwig ruffled her feathers indigantly.  
His scar stopped hurting abruptly. "Hedwig, I need you to do something FAST."  
She ruffled her feathers again, appaled that he would suggest she was anything near slow.  
Quickly Harry scratched a note to Dumbledore.  
Dear Dumbledore,  
My scar hurt when I woke up. More disturbing was the dream, it sounded like Voldemort was plotting to kill Neville because of his parents. What do you want me to do? Do something to help Neville! Please tell Sirius, too.  
Harry  
  
He tied it to Hedwig's leg and she flew off quickly. "Hurry," he whispered.  



End file.
